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4 4 


Then Maggie looked daggers and scorned him. 


S 1 


[page 50 











Sweet Maggie McGee— 
Red Cross Nurse 

Ovid’s Metamorphoses - 1 

By 

■\a.-v vxi BROOKES MORE 

Author of The Beggar's Vision; The Lover's Rosary; 
Ovid's Metamorphoses in English, Blank Verse; 
The Ring of Love, etc. 



1923 

The Cornhill Publishing Company 
BOSTON 



T$352 5 

.Ofe'Ss 

/<?£3 


Copyright, 1918 
by 

THE CORNHILL COMPANY 


Copyright, 1923 
by 

BROOKES MORE 

Copyright, 1922 (Ovid) 

by 

BROOKES MORE 



Printed in the United States of America 

THE JORDAN & MORE PRESS 
BOSTON 


0C1 -3 1323 

©C1A759915 

( /\ 


TO SWEET MAGGIE 
MY OWN 










CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Sweet Maggie McGee.3 

Jacques Mallaise.19 

A Dream in the Trenches .29 

John Brown, African, of the Foreign Legion . . 37 

Edith Cavell and Maggie McGee.47 

The Glory of Phelim O’Toole.55 

Hans Winkelmann .65 

A Belgian Hero. 71 

Entrenched on the Aisne .79 

The Call of the Crows .85 

Send a Smile—.91 

His Last Words —.95 

Who Shall Forgive? —.99 

























ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

“ Then Maggie looked daggers and scorned him” Frontispiece 
“ Then the three of us ambled to father.” . . Facing 12 

“Again from the din of the battle rang out the deep¬ 
voiced Mallaise.” . “26 

“ They grew from the trees and the stones.” . “83 

“ XJp Phelim jumps, swinging his gun in the air.” “ 60 







i 







SWEET MAGGIE McGEE 
















































I 


SWEET MAGGIE McGEE 


’Twas an elegant party he gave us, 

And all of the officers went; 

And I was that proud to be present 
For three of his daughters had sent 

A dignified note to me honour. 

Which happened to be an invite; 

“ Dear Phelim, 

Plaze come to our party 
At eight o’clock Saturday night; 

“ And it will be ‘officers strictly,’ 

Yourself we are waiting to see; 

Now don’t disappoint us, dear Phelim, 
Yours truly, 

The Sisters McGee.” 

You see, we were ordered to Europe, 

For Ostend, Dunkirk or Calais, 

And all must be ready by Sunday 
To sail from Killala Bay. 


[ 3 ] 


SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


And that was the reason a plenty 
For revels and parties galore; 

But the grandest of all, to my notion, 

Was this of “ The One Day Before.” 

An elegant party, a grand one, — 

The next day, “ Away to the war.” — 

Take a light to your pipe while I’m talking, 
I’ll tell it ye, Mickey O’More. — 

Now Billy McGee had three daughters, 

As pretty as they could well be. 

Young ladies, Miss Bridget and Mary, 

And sweet little Maggie McGee. 

I’d called on the girls pretty often. 

And loved by the light of the moon. 

To wander with Bridget or Mary, 
Whichever one wanted to spoon. 

Of course, that left out little Maggie, 
Because she was only sixteen; — 

A wild little trick, and a spitfire — 

Her ayqual ye never have seen. 


[4] 



SWEET MAGGIE McGEE 


“ Aw Phelim, ye’re after forgetting 
The girl that I told you about ” — 

“ Tut, Mickey your tongue interrupts me — 
You grunt like a pig in his snout.” 

The first one I met at the party 

Was Bridget, and looking that swate, 

My head was bamboozled entirely. 

Sure was I, that girl was my fate. 

We had the first dance, and together 

Were thinking how soon we must part; — 

I said to her, “ Bridget, tomorrow 
I go, but I lave you me heart.” 

“ Come out in the garden,” she whispered, 

“ Faith, how can we talk in this crowd.” — 
And there in the moonlight ’twas settled: 

I felt like a peacock, — that proud. 

So when we came back, there was Mary, 

And Bridget said, “ Give her a dance; ” 
And away we went whirling together. 

It seemed I was lost in a trance. 


[5] 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


“ Ah Mary,” I said, “ ’Tis a strange world; 

I feel like it’s slipping away; 

It leaves me behind while we’re dancing, 
Tomorrow will be my last day.” 

“ Come out in the garden,” she whispered, 

“ I feel I will have a big cry.” 

And out there my head went that foolish, 

To hear the poor girl weep and sigh. 

“ Ah Mary,” says I, “ You’re heartbroken 
Because I am off to the war; 

But listen, me darlint, I’ll tell you 
A thing I have thought of before: 

“ ’Tis the praist that can help us, my Mary, 
Your husband I am, if you’ll wait,” — 

“ Ah Phelim,” she sighed, “ You’ll forget me, 
The glory will make you so great.” 

We argued that question ten minutes; 

She swore she would always be true; 

And when I went back to the dancing, 

Sure, I was engaged to her, too. 


[6] 



SWEET MAGGIE McGEE 


The first one we met in the parlour 
Was sweet little Maggie McGee; 

Says Mary, “ O Phelim, there’s Maggie, 
Go dance with her, just to plaze me.” 

And soon we were dancing together — 

I thought we were floating in air, 

And I seemed in a dream for the perfume 
That lurked in her beautiful hair. 

Her eyes, looking up (just a little), 

I saw in their wonderful blue 

A light I had dreamed of in women — 

Soft, innocent, perfect and true. 

And the music? ah yes, and the music! 

It breathed of a lover’s soft pain; 

And the sorrow that wafted around us 
Was turning to pleasure again. 

And there went the languishing beauties 
In circles around and around; 

And all of it mingled together. 

Light, beauty, sweet perfume and sound. 


[71 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


I whispered, 44 Ah what is it? Dearie, 

It is not the earth we are on; 

And are you that sweet little Maggie, — 

Or the wraith of her — after she’s gone? ” 

She answered me not, but her fond eyes 
Suffused with a liquid of pearl; 

And all the wide world slipped away then, 
Save only that one darling girl. 

My brain was on fire, I was dizzy, 

I was sick with excess of delight; 

Ah, what if that girl should forget me 
The moment I slipped from her sight? 

I whispered, 44 My dear, I can’t stand it; 

Come out in the garden with me; 

I never can rest till I’ve told you 
What ails me, sweet Maggie McGee.” 

She looked up with something of wonder, 
And something of knowledge I thought; 

A man is so stupid and clumsy; 

A girl by her nature is taught. 


[8] 



SWEET MAGGIE McGEE 


A girl at sixteen may be artless, 

But that is not always the case; — 

Sweet Maggie demurely went with me, 

But a dimple played rogue in her face. — 

44 Aw Phelim O’Toole, what’s a Mormon 
Compared wit’ the likes of your heart? 

The divil is anxious to burn you — 

I’m waiting to witness your start.” — 

44 What, Mickey O’More, has occasioned 
The nonsense and vapour ye give? 

Just wait for the end o’ me story; 

You’re jealous as sure as I live.” 

44 Ah Maggie,” said I, 44 ’Tis a wonder, 

To see you so quiet and shy; 

And me that’s on fire like a furnace 
For love of you standing near by. 

44 And the cause of it? Sure there’s a reason, 
And who but your sweet self, my dear? 

The good Lord was mad wit’ us poor men 
That moment he put you down here. 


[9] 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


“ I’m off of me feet, I am foolish; 

The divil knows what I will say; 

But the angel that’s in you must hear it 
Before I can go on me way. 

“ Now Bridget is ill for a brother, 

And Mary feels awfully, too. 

But before they can get such a present 
They’ll first have to give away — you. 

** Ah Maggie, my colleen, forgive me,— 

A wild man, clane out of his mind,— 

So proud was I, now I’m that humble 
Compared with you — gold, and refined. 

“But when I am off to that great war, 

Where death works a strange Golden Rule, 

And you hear of that terrible carnage, 

Will you forget Phelim O’Toole? 

“ ’Tis a wonderful thing, I assure you, 

Great courage and love are true friends; 

And I feel, if the good Lord will spare me, 
That I may (before the war ends) 



SWEET MAGGIE McGEE 


“ Do something that you can be proud of; 

I mean, if you care about me, 

For now I am through with my boyhood 
For the love of sweet Maggie McGee. 

“ And Maggie, see, here is a plain ring, 

The one that my mother once wore, 

And I ask you to keep it because, dear, 

No other girl-never before 

“ Have I had a thought to part with it, 

And sure by that sign you will know 

There is one girl for me, and one only, 
Acushla, wherever I go.” 

And my arm had (by accident may be) 

Slipped ’round her,— ah sure it was chance; 

But it gave me another sensation 

Than the same in the whirl of the dance. 

And while I was talking her eyes shone 
Like stars on the waves of the Moy — 

And as I leaned over I whispered, 

“ My dearest, my darling, my joy.” 


[ill 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


And our lips met (by accident may be) 

But the moment the kissing was done, 

Up Maggie flashed furious and slapped me, 
And fled from me like a wild fawn. 

At first I was rather astonished, 

And angry — it made my cheek sting — 

But when I reflected I noticed 

She had not returned me that ring. 

So, musing, I turned from the garden 
And entered the ball room once more; 

’Twas late and the guests had departed, 
But Bridget stood by the front door. 

We walked about ten feet together, 

And there stood Miss Mary near by, 

And always, her heart was that tender, 

I thought she was ready to cry. 

Then the three of us ambled to father, 
With arms locked around them I wint; 

And the moment he saw that performance 
His eyes took a mischievous glint. 


[12] 



m. ■ 



a 


Then the three of us ambled, to father. 


yy 


[page 12] 

























SWEET MAGGIE McGEE 


“ Dear father,” I said, “ Pretty Bridget 
Has told me a sister I need, 

And Mary assures me the same thing, 

Tis I am the brother indeed.” 

Then both of the girls began laughing. 

Each thought I had said the right thing; 

And I was quite sure of that notion, 

By right of one girl and the ring. 

Then Daddy McGee said, “ You rascal, 

To which of the girls have you lied.” 

And I answered, “ Belave me the best one.” — 
They laughed at that quite satisfied. 

“ So that was the end of your party; ” 

Chimed in little Mickey O’More. — 

Be aisey Mike, I never told you 
That I had gone out be the door. 

Well — annyway — Mickey you guessed it; 

I rambled away to the gate; 

For sure I suspicioned that some one 

Would hang around there, — on the wait. 


[13] 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


But that little trick of wild nature 

Would never do what you might think; — 

The rest of the night, having missed her, 

My wearied eyes slept not a wink. 

The morning came up; bright and early, 

The drum and fife stirred the crisp air; 

And after we ate a good breakfast. 

We packed up and started from there. 

We marched down the main street in glory, 
For all the town waved a farewell; 

And here and there Johnny or Tommy 
Broke ranks to kiss Kitty or Nell. 

And what would you think of Miss Bridget, 
So kind at the party last night! 

She passed that same Phelim O’Toole, sir, 
And hugged the lad just at his right. 

“Ah Jimmy Malone, you rap-scallion! 
Whoever would think ye so sly? 

I thought your Miss Bridget was my girl, 

I see it was all in me eye.” 


[14] 



SWEET MAGGIE McGEE 


And what would you think of Miss Mary, 
So ready and soft with her weep! 

Ah Mickey, don't fail to raymimber 
Thim kind of girls always is deep. 

She passed me the same as Miss Bridget, 
And held a big weep in her eyes, 

But a lad on me left, Bill O'Brien, 
Rewarded her sorrowful cries. 

I looked on me right, there was Bridget 
A-kissing of Jimmy Malone; 

I looked on me left, and O’Brien 
With Mary was wailing o’chone! 

'Twas sad for me, I that neglected, 

Forgot by the pretty McGees! 

And where was a female for Phelim 
To weep with, or kiss if you please? 

Well, after the women had plenty 
Of doings, that kind of a way, 

With a cheer for the girls and a flourish 
We marched out of old Ballina. 


[15] 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


But sarrah the cheer would I join in,— 
And all the boys laughed at me so, 

I gnawed on me nails, and I growled out, 
“ The divil knows where you will go.” 

Away we had marched then, a half mile, 
While I was too grouchy to tell, 

When out from the midst of a thicket 
We heard the most terrible yell. 

A screech and a yell, and betwixt them 
I heard my name, “ Phelim O’Toole! ” 

A screech then, “ O Phelim! ” a yell then, 
I felt like a blithering fool. 

So dazed like I was, till my fool head 
Remembered the tone of that voice; 

And the sight of the way I went on then 
Would make a blind monkey rejoice. 

I threw down my gun on the soft peat, 

I ran to the voice that called me; 

And there in a clump of sweet lilacs 
My darling, sweet Maggie McGee. 


[16] 



SWEET MAGGIE McGEE 


“ Bad cess to you, Mickey O’More, let 
That tongue of yours wag in your head; 
No question of yours can get from me 
A word of what Sweet Maggie said.” 


[17] 



JACQUES MALLAISE 









JACQUES MALLAISE 


“ Hurrah for it boys! here is Phelim — 

That divil from Ireland can’t die — 

An ye gather around him to listen, 

He’ll tell you the dooce of a lie.” 

“Ye Scawlthon! — ye shrimplet of Erin! — 
And how are ye come to this war? 

Make use of your tongue and they’ll kape you 
For Parliament, Mickey O’More.” — 

“ Come over here boys! be that token, 

A tale is in Phelim O’Toole; 

’Tis the trick of him, since we were wee lads 
In mischief together at school.” 

“ Well, Mickey O’More, for that reason. 

I’ll tell them what happened for fear 

If you are not stopped of your jabbers 
You’ll shame all the Irish that’s here.” 


[21] 


SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


You know I was called by the general 
To get him a special report, 

And now there’s no cause to be secret 
I’ll blab it to kape up your sport. 

Says he to me, 44 Phelim, the Proossians 
Most surely are tapping the wire; 

I know it because our maneuvers 
Are always delayed by their fire. 

44 And now there’s an urgent occasion 
For us to get word to the French, 

Of doings by far too important 
To chance the tapped wires from the trench. 

44 Take this to them over at Dixmude, 

And while ye run over the way, 

Examine the wire through the forest; 

And travel be light of the day.” 

At once I set off on my gray horse, 

That message hid under his tail, 

Besides a false note in my pocket, 

To fool them in case I should fail. 


[22] 



JACQUES MALLAISE 


Well, while I was riding I felt sure 
I saw through the leaves of a tree, 

The glint of a rifle that hinted 
A Proossian was looking at me. 

Good angels take care of the Irish! 

I dropped the false note on the ground; 

And the yokel hid up in those branches, 
Bamboozled, made never a sound. 

No doubt he made sure ’twas important, 

So divil the trigger he pulled; 

While Phelim rode forward, rejoicing, 

In love wit’ the Proossian he fooled. 

I well knew the wires had been tapped there. 
Yet innocent-like I rode by; 

And so, (be the trick of it) lately 
That German was shot for a spy. 

In due time, I got to the French camp, 

And gave the right note to the general; 

That tickled he was, when he read it, 

He chuckled, “ We’ll lick ’em my men or I’ll 


[23] 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


“ Eat anny old mud in the trenches: — 
Tomorrow, boys, three in the morning, 

Be ready to charge wit’ the bay’net, — 

Be careful, don’t give ’em a warning.” 

That word went the rounds, and our Frenchmen 
Were merry as truants from school — 

They made up a song with a chorus 
That ended with Phelim O’Toole! 

At three in the morning, away then, 

They rushed up the hill for the Dutch — 

God give me the French or the Irish!— 

Hurrah! and a charge! hurrah! — Such 

Was the craze and the fury, — they kept on, 
Although they were caught in a hell 
Where cannons were belching out murther 
With solid ball, shrapnel and shell. 

A thousand, at least, were destroyed there, 

Not far from the enemy’s trench, 

And the Boches, blood-lusting for slaughter, 

Were shouting, “ God punish the French!” 


[24] 



JACQUES MALLAISE 


But while they were yelling their lungs out, 

A wounded man, Jacques Mallaise, 

From the midst of the dead and the dying 
Sang bravely the French Marseillaise! 

Imagine! betwixt the two armies, 

Where mangled men covered the ground, 

One living and singing defiance, 

While bullets were whistling around. 

His voice, a rich baritone, grandly 
Swelled over the discord of hate; — 

The soldiers stopped fighting and listened, 
Amazed as he mocked at his fate. 

But when he had silenced that clamour, 

He stopped in the midst of his song, 

And called to the French, who were held back 
And wild to retrieve their wrong: 

“ Ho, comrades, my ankle is fractured, 

But never you dream about me; 

Shoot, comrades! shoot low at the Boches, 
Have at them, — for victory! ” 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


Good God! as they looked through the gray 
dawn, 

And saw that the torn bodies moved. 

No Frenchman could shoot at the Germans 
Across the brave comrade he loved. 

Not so with the long line of Proossians, 

Their cruel guns rattled, spit, spats; 

Swept over the field where the wounded 
Were writhing like tortured rats. 

And again from the din of the battle 
Rang out the deep-voiced Mallaise; 

But instead of the song he was cursing, 

In various and horrible ways: 

“ Shoot, comrades! shoot low at the Boches! 

Forget me, consider me slain; 

For what in the hell does it matter; 

Remember the sack of Louvain! ” 

Oh, then it is something most awful; 

The tears spurting forth from their eyes, 

Ten thousand brave soldiers are sobbing, — 

He, cursing, his own death defies! — 



Again from the din of the battle rang out the deep-voiced Mallaise 










































































JACQUES MALLAISE 


Ten thousand! a host out of bedlam, 

They shoot with a frenzy to kill — 

With never a word from a captain 
They rush up the death-strewn hill. 

And I am as crazy as they are — 

We charge with a reckless wild yell; 

And where a man falls there are ten more 
To jump for the spot where he fell. 

No son of a woman can stand up 

Against that wild shock undismayed; 

Like rabbits they run from their trenches, 
Demoralized, whipped and afraid. 

Red Slaughter runs mad in the gray dawn, 
The Frenchmen are shouting “ Louvain ! 9h 

And often the word, “ Lusitania! ” 

Is echoing over the plain. — 

Holy Virgin! Fm back wut the Irish, 

They fight for the Glory of God! 

But the Proossians are foul, — in a mix-up, 
Savage,— for the lust of hot blood. 


[27] 






















A DREAM IN THE TRENCHES 




A DREAM IN THE TRENCHES 


Now this is me tale; — aw now Mickey for¬ 
get it, 

Ye tyke! not the least tail o’ me; 

But the tale I’m a telling. — The weather was 
awful. 

That nasty you never did see. 

The Huns had been shelling us (snug in our 
trenches) 

Their mortyars kept booming a wake; 

And what wit* the charges and sniping around 
us. 

No slape and no rest could I take. 

Saint Pathrick (or something) took care of the 
Irish, 

The Proossians were caught at their tricks; 

They crept, in the midnight, to ketch us a- 
slapeing. 

And gotta good fill of the Micks. 


[ 31 ] 


SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


We caught them betwixt and betchune the two 
ditches, 

And gave them a dose of cold steel; 

’Twas like a pig-sticking, me arms got that weary, 

For numbness I hardly could feel. 

Well, when it was over, the dead men were lively 

Compared with the likes of meself; — 

Begobs we were safe, till the dawn o' the morn¬ 
ing,— 

I took a big snore on me shelf. 

Holy Moses! the night-mares that galloped 
around me! 

Till dawn of the morning was gray, 

I thought I was walking through miles of deep 
trenches 

That twisted like snakes the wrong way. 


And then I was lost in the thick of a forest, 
And shells were the fruit of the trees; 

They busted and killed such a plenty of Boches 
I waded in blood to my knees. 


[32] 

















































































“ They grew f rom the trees and the stones 


[pajre .ss] 






A DREAM IN THE TRENCHES 


I stood on an old stump, surrounded by soldiers; 

They grew from the trees and the stones; 

I handed the biggest a jab of my bay’net, 

I felt it go grit in his bones. 

The bay’net stuck in him; I tried to unloose it, 
To get at the rest of my foes; 

It would not come out, and I could not unhand it. 
Be dad! to the gun I was froze. — 

Now Mickey quit winkin’ and japein’ that foolish, 
Suppose ye were in such a fix; 

Ye’d call it great sport, and the Proossians around 
you? 

I say, like the Huns, “ aber nix.” 

“ ’Tis the divil’s own tale ye are after the telling, 
Remember this, Phelim O’Toole, 

Ye said ye were froze to the holt of your musket. 
Explain, if ye’re not a big fool.” 

“ Aw Mickey! I saw in the light of me drameing, 
And all was too dark for to see; 

But now, an ye listen, I’ll tell you what happened 
When sunlight was shining on me. 


[33] 



SONGS OF A BED CROSS NURSE 


“ Of course, what I’m after the telling was 
nightmares 

But now I’m awake in me tale, 

And when I’m awake I’m that wonderful truth¬ 
ful,— 

A lie! whist, to tell it I’d fail.” — 

Now when I awoke, in the midst of me right mind. 

On me left I was lying stretched out; 

And the Huns be the hundred were scatthered 
around me; 

Stark dead they were litthered about. 

And their blood! ’twas a lake of it, frozen and 
brittle, 

And there I was held in that ice; 

And the musket that filled Mickey’s head with a 
wonder, 

Was held in me grip like a vice. 

And from it red icicles shone in the sunlight, 

Belave it or not, I don’t care; 

But the worst of it was, I was held like a prisoner, 

And no one could pull me from there. 


[34] 




A DREAM IN THE TRENCHES 


’Twas a sight for the Irish! alive as the divil, 
And held by a Proossian that’s dead! — 

“ Whist! Phelim O’Toole, ’tis a taffy you give us, 
There’s nothing but lies in your head.” — 

“ Now Mickey, what for do ye so interrupt me, 
In coorse I got out of me fix; 

Just wait a bit, faith, and ye’ll have to belave me, 
Both you and the rest of the Micks.”-— 

A Parlevoo came to the rescue of Erin — 

He grabbed up some fresh dinnymite, — 

He placed it, and parlevooed, begged of me 
pardon,— 

And touched it off, biff!—out of sight 

Sails I in the air like a scout on an airship! — 
Comes I to me camp, to me friends! — 

Faith, Mickey O’More, be the saints, I have 
proved it; 

The tail of me narrative ends. 


[35] 



JOHN BROWN, AFRICAN, OF THE 
FOREIGN LEGION 




































JOHN BROWN, AFRICAN, OF THE 
FOREIGN LEGION 


Now whaffoh, Miss Maggie, you laffin, 

Kase why, of dat powaful chahm? 

A white-graveyard-rabbit’s left hind foot 
Will suttenly keep you from hahm. 

Mah friend, Mistah Phelim, can prove it — 
Ah followed him straight up the hill — 

He saw how the shells couldn’t hit me — 
Some magic! in such a big mill! 

“ But John, you forget the ‘ Jack Johnson’ * 
That wounded you there in the back; 

Perhaps there’s a plenty of magic, 

A rabbit’s left hind foot may lack.” 

Why lawzey. Miss Maggie, me wounded? 
And me in mah bed, paralyzed! — 

Ah thought all mah troubles was ovah 
And wobbled around and capsized. 

* The soldiers call large shells “ Jack Johnsons.” 


[39] 


SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


But only for this little hind foot — 

It saved me and Phelim O’Toole — 

That big shell had hustled our shadows 
To sizzle where wintah’s not cool. 

“ I wish you would tell me about it; ” 

Chimed in little Maggie McGee, 

“ Strange is it a man of your colour 
From Boston, and over the sea; 

“ For why should you leave that great country. 
Where even the naygurs get rich, 

A-picking gold off of the mountains, 

Or cotton and pray ties and sich. 

“ For why did you come to this bad war, 

Where Kaisers are swimming in blood, 

And leave your great mansions of marble, 

To wallow in trenches of mud.” 

Why lawzey, Miss Maggie, quoth John Brown, 
Ah guess Ah most always might have 
Qu-ossity mo’ than right judgment; — 

It was not because Ah was brave; 


[40] 



JOHN BROWN, AFRICAN 


But some of mah friends had war-fevah, 

And made up a “ legion ” to fight 
For France, and they needed a cook, so 
Ah joined them account of their plight. 

And so Ah have followed this ahmy, 

And fed them and fought for them too, 
And Ah would be dead like the othahs 
Except fo’ mah little hoo-doo. 

’Twas Sattaday mawnin’, we stahted 

To chahge like the Germans, — you know, 
Bunched up in a reg’lah fo’mation — 

And that worried all of us — so, 

Ah said kind of loud, with intention 
The captain would heah what Ah said, 

“ Why doan’ that man tell us to spread out 
Befo’ we gets laid out fo’ dead? ” 

He didn’t pay no least attention — 

Whaffoh should he listen to me? — 

We went that-a-way till the captain 
Got ready a-plenty, says he, 


[41] 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


“ Spread out and to kuvvah, heads down boys”— 
He had a good reason by that — 

Our heads a-most natchally sag down — 

Ah dodge like a rabbit or cat. 

And a-shootin’ away from the hill-top 
An ahsenal, robbed of its guns, 

Keeps pumpin’ all kinds of fired bullets, 

Invented by bahberous Huns. 

We stops, and we rush, and again rush, 

We gets to the top of the hill; 

The Germans get skeered and bend backwahd; 
Ah ’spicion they sho’ got their fill. 

But chasing them we got surrounded, 

Machine guns in front and around. 

And shells in the middle a-bustin’ — 

Ah thought Ah was heavenly bound. 

They tole us to lay on our stummicks, 

To dodge their machinery pills; — 

You simply cain’t duck them love-tokens, 

No mo’ than your grocery bills. 


[42] 



JOHN BROWN, AFRICAN 


And while Ah was huggin’ the ground close, 
Jack Johnson slid ovah mah back; 

“ O Lawdy,” Ah says to mahself, sir, 

“ Ah’m smashed lak a railroad track. 

“ Ah guess Ah’m a-earnin’ mah wages, 
About a whole penny a day, 

But somehow the future looks gloomy 
And dahk if Ah keeps dis-a-way.” 

“ How many days lasted that battle? ” 
Astonished, said Maggie McGee; — 

“ Why just a small po’tion of one day, 

And that was enough to hold me.” 

“ And who went with you besides Phelim? ” 
Said Maggie, perhaps with some pride: 

He answered, “ They kept me too busy, 

But Phelim was close at mah side.” 

While Maggie was dreaming of glory, 
Another nurse came with his food; 

“ Oh lawzey, jes’ whiff at the bacon, 

Ah tell you it sho’ly am good. 


[43] 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


“ If Joffrey would listen to mah plan, 

This wah would not last half a day; 

Ah’d set out a million of rashahs, 

All crispy and hot dis-a-way; 

“ And scattah them out on the trenches — 

As soon as the Huns got a smell 

They’d jump from their holes and surrendah — 
Too glad to escape from their-well, 

“ That minds me again of mah good luck, 
Account of mah rabbit-foot chahm; 

Fo’ why does Ah know it’s the rabbit? — 

Why heah Ah is cuddled from hahm.” 

“ But where then is Phelim,” said Maggie, 

“ Ah, tell me for better or worse — 

’Tis me that came over from Ireland, 

In case he might need for a nurse.” 

“ And do you know Phelim, Miss Maggie? 

They found him nigh dead on that hill, 

And toted him, captive to Belgium — 

Perhaps he is up there still.” 


[44] 



JOHN BROWN, AFRICAN 


“ My Phelim among those blood-robbers? 

Oh, tell me how may I go there! 

Thank God for this badge of the Red Cross, 
A passport that’s good everywhere.” 




EDITH CAVELL AND MAGGIE 
McGEE 










EDITH CAVELL AND MAGGIE 
McGEE 


“ Come out with it, Mickey, and tell us 
What happened when Maggie McGee 
Donated her tongue to Von Bissing — 

Come Mickey, we’re waiting on ye.” 

And is it meself ye are teasing? 

Me, puffing a snipe and no light? — 

Me wind-pipe’s that dry, — I’m a desert; 

I’ll bark it, not spake, if I try it. — 

Well then — gloog-loog-loog! I feel better — 
And now, — poof, poof, poof — a grand stogie; 
So kind are ye, I will endayvour 

To show up Von Bissing. — That rogue! he 

Had already signed the death-warrant 
Of Edith Cavell, when a sly 
Ould fox of a German said, “ Maggie 
For helping Miss Edith should die.” 


[49] 


SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


And troth was it so? She had helped me. 

And others, to fade from their clutches; — 

No matter, — to murther a good nurse 
Is nobody’s right but the Deutches. 

They slaughtered Miss Cavell that same night. — 
Von Bissing the next morning gave 

To each of his henchmen a tin cross — 

A sooveneer, “ fit for the brave.” 

And while that ould mummy still felt good, 

He sent for sweet Maggie McGee, 

Determined to make her confess all. 

Before he would let her go free. 

“ So Meggie,” said he, “ Yust inform me 
How you und Miss Kevell us fool; 

A child you was, so I not hurt you — 

So young, yet, und yust out of school.” 

Then Maggie looked daggers and scorned him; 

“ Is it me, ye would like to cajole? 

A serpent ye are, I advise you. 

Go wriggle away to your hole.” 


[50] 



EDITH CAVELL AND MAGGIE McGEE 


A big-fisted soldier then caught her, 

And, shaking her, hissed in her ear, 

“ How dare you insult, yet, his highness? 
Good reason I gif you to fear.” 

A classic performance that started: — 

As when the wild-cat, in attack. 

Encounters a wolf: — Her eyes blazing, 

She crouches — she arches her back — 

And, swift as a ball to the wicket, 

Leaps straight at the neck of her foe; — 

She yells, and she scratches and bites him, 
Escapes his great teeth, till a blow 

Of her claws rips a gash in his white throat; — 
So, Maggie, her eyes in a blaze, 

Dug deep with the nails of her fingers 
Red lines on the German’s face: 

She grabbed at his hair with her two hands, 
Jerked out a big hank by the roots; 

And biting and scratching and yelling, 

Kicked out with her French-heeled boots. 


[51] 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


Compared with that little she-tiger. 

That mountain of strength was no use; 

A map of ould Ireland his face was, 

When she had repaid his abuse. 

That over, she threw at ould Bissing 
A bottle or two of his beer; 

Books, papers and weights, swords, pistols. 
Just anything handy or near; 

Kicked over the chairs, broke a mirrour, 
And screeching and yelling blue murther, 

Began to tear off a few garments — 

Old Bissing afraid of, — what further? 

Ran out of the room in a panic. 

And managed to call, in his fright, 

An army or so, “ to the rescue,” 

Who thinking a turrible fight, — 

Perhaps a surprise — came a-running 
To rescue that cold-blooded Nero; 

By which, I’ll record to the whole world, 
They certainly saved a great hero. 


[52] 



EDITH CAVELL AND MAGGIE McGEE 


By cannons, guns, sabres and brave deeds, 
They captured sweet Maggie McGee — 
Great glory they won — I have heard tell 
The mix-up was awful to see. 

A danger she was to their Impire, 

They had to confine her in jail; — 

The logical Baron Von Bissing 
Wrote William a luminous tale. — 

So back comes a note from Got-William 
Promoting that vigilant boss, 

And tons of ould junk in small pieces, 
Profaning the shape of the cross. 

Now, everything ready for Maggie, 

Ould Bissing made up a report 
To fool the dense world with a story. 

How Maggie was tried in fair court; 

But while he was scheming that wild tale, 
The world gave a palpable hint 
About the sly murther of women 
By Kaisers conceited of flint. 


[53] 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


That hard was the hint it would break through 
The hide of a rhinoceros; 

Small doubt of it, since the Got-Kaiser, 

To prove that he loved the Red Cross, 

Gave orders to pardon all nurses, 

By which the blame went to Von Bissing, 

The glory, as always, to William 

Whom Satan not long will be missing. 

And just for that reason sweet Maggie 
Remained there, a Red Cross Nurse; 

And she it was saved our brave Phelim — 
Thank Heaven! it might have been worse. 


[54] 



THE GLORY OF PHELIM O’TOOLE 





THE GLORY OF PHELIM O’TOOLE 


Dear Daddie, I take up my pencil 
To tell you the news of the day — 

How I wish the sad war was all over, 

And me in Killala Bay! 

It is dreadful to be with these poor men, 

That once were so strong and so brave. 

Now mangled and torn; — it were better 
To put them at rest in the grave. 

O Father! how can I but tell it: 

Our Phelim O’Toole,— is not — dead — 

But wounded, he suffers that dreadful,— 

I write while I watch by his bed. 

They brought him here, maimed and delirious, — 
He doesn’t know I am his nurse; 

And the doctor has said we will lose him, 

If ever his fever gets worse. 


[ 57 ] 


SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


Near dead am I watching the nights through, 
With never a minute of sleep; 

Small use have I now for these sad eyes, 
Excepting to watch and to weep. 

And Mickey O’More it was brought him, — 
Ye mind him, that small freckled lad? 

His blue eyes of laughter? God bless him! — 
He took on for Phelim so bad. 

He told me how Phelim got hurted, 

The glory he did in that war: 

I’ll tell it ye here on this paper, 

Be the language of Mickey O’More: — 

Says Mickey, “ Ah Maggie, I seen him 
In the hot of it, time and again! 

I’ll never forget in that wild charge 
So grand was he, leading his men. — 

“ You see, it was this way, the Boches 
Outnumbered us twenty to one, 

And now they had planned a great effort, 

To whip us and force us to run. 


[58] 



THE GLORY OF PHELIM O’TOOLE 


“For one of them spied out our trouble, — 

What was it? Our powder was low! — 

A cartridge! ’twas worth a goold guinea! — 

Our gun-fire was feeble and slow. 

“ Of course, if we once got to running, 

They’d follow with bay’net and shot; 

And few of the English and Irish 
Would ever return from that spot. 

“ The General (wise to their tactics) 

Gave orders to Phelim O’Toole; 

Says he, ‘ It is often the best plan 
For wise men to hazard the fool; 

“ ‘Get out your brigade of brave Irish 
And charge up that hill, on the right — 

The Proossians will argue we done it 
To bring on a general fight; 

“ ‘ By which they will guess re-enforcements, — 
Perhaps a reserve in the rear, — 

And that will delay their maneuvers, 

Until we can get out of here. 


[59] 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


44 ‘ Stick to it, my lad, till you scare them; 

Destroy all the guns that you can: 

Come back when we feint to support you — 

God help you, my brave Irish man.’ 

44 4 Come back,’ says I, 4 Sure with the angels! ’ 
But Phelim swore, 4 Devils in pitch! 

Come on my boys! Charge! To the Dutchmen! 
Ho! Follow me! Out of the ditch!’ 

44 Those divils from Ireland! God bless them! 

They follow him up to the hill, 

Flat down on their bellies they’re crawling — 
On! upward! they struggle until 

44 The long line of blood that’s behind them 
Gives pause to the bravest man there; — 

But, just as they waver, up Phelim 
Jumps, swinging his gun in the air; 

44 A target for thousands of Boches, 

He stands on the top of a stone, 

And shouts like a god in that wild din, 

4 Come on, boys! I charge ’em alone! ’ 




Up Phelim jumps, swinging his gun in the air.” 


[page 60] 


























THE GLORY OF PHELIM O’TOOLE 


“ Oh then, you can see a strange glitter 
A-light in the eyes of his men; 

No torment of grim death can stop them — 
They follow their leader again.” 

O Daddy! I knew what was coming — 

Your Maggie fell down in a swoon; 

And Mickey took on like a wild man, 

For fright of it — luckily, soon, 

I came to myself, but my head swam; 

A dizzy feel blinded my eyes; 

And, while I was foolish, I moaned out, 

“ Don’t tell it me! tell me no lies! ” 

What for did I get to my right mind? 

’Tis sorrow we love here, not mirth; 

We pluck the sweet flower from the green stem, 
Smile on it, and crush it to earth.— 

“ O Mickey, o’chone, ye must tell it! — 

Hush Mickey, ye’ll murther me dead! ” 

And so I wailed under my sorrow. 

Too wild-like to know what I said. 


[61] 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


And when I was worn out with weeping, 
Again, I could listen to him; 

And oh, what he told of those Germans! 

Bed cess to the nation of thim. — 

But guess now, dear Father, what happened? 

While writing you this, by his bed. 

And while I was teeming with anger, 

He opened his eyes, and he said: 

“ What dream is this? is it a vision? 

Or is it a dear ghost I see? 

I thought I was kilt on that steep hill; 

God help me! that’s Maggie McGee! 

“ Are you, too, my colleen, a spirit? 

Your sweet life put out in that war? 

Dear God! must they slaughter such children, 
To humour that crazed Emperor?” 

His words were that strange, but his clear eyes 
With nothing of madness shone; 

And when I leaned over and kissed him, 

I knew that his fever had gone. 


[62] 



THE GLORY OF PHELIM O’TOOLE 


That good news broke into the sad tale 
Our poor little Mickey had told.— 

And he’s to the war, such a small man, 

With his big heart of purified gold. 

And, O my dear Father! the doctor 
Assures me that Phelim will live; 

And when he gets well we will come back, — 
And your little Maggie will give 

The strength of her two arms to Phelim, — 
My darling, brave, one-armed boy! — 

And do ye remember that cottage 

That’s close by the banks of the Moy? 


[63] 



% 














HANS WINKELMANN 










HANS WINKELMANN 


Hans Vinkelmann was yust thot way, 

He always dit wot he was tolt; 

By witch thot night he met his dett, 

Und it was awful colt. 

You see, December it was then, 

Way off by Warsaw mit the Poles, 

All kinds of plizzards plew, und we 
Kept warm by digging holes. 

So Hans was digging, like so me, 

Venn oop the kepting comes, mit shout, 

“ Hans Vinkelmann! ” und Hans says, “ Here!” 
“ Veil then, thot trench get out; 

“ Und come by me, we need a man 
Off yonder by thot picket line; 

You must not leef mitout my wort, — 

Relief will be at nine.” 


[67] 


SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


Veil venn a sentry vent the rount, 
Perhaps by eight o’clock, or so, 

He met poor Hans half dett mit colt, 

Und standing in the snow; 

Und Hans, he said, “ My comrade Yake, 

I feel mit shivers, colt as ice, 

I wish you giff the kepting this 
For Yennie if I dies.” 

So Yake comes pack und tells it all — 

Up yoomped the kepting, und he swore, 

“Py Tamm! if he is scairt of colt, 

Vot vill he do in vore?’ ’ 

Yust then a thousand Rooshians yelt, 

Like hell-fire tyefulls, or wot not; 

Und wile we fought to safe our lifes, 

Poor Hans was all forgot. 

The other sentries hurried in, 

Und choined us mit the Rooshian fight; 

I tell you wot, we licked ’em goot, 

Und kept it oop all night. 


[68] 



HANS WINKELMANN 


Veil howso thot, venn morning comes, 

We looks arount und counts our men; 

The kepting calls our names, und calls, 

“ Hans Vinkelmann! ” again. 

No answer comes, und ware is Hans? 

He is not on the ploody grount; 

Und any ware we looks for him. 

No sign of him is fount. 

But Yakey was a cunning Yew, 

Und said, “ Py Yim, I bet I know, 

Hans Vinkelmann is keeping guart, 

Und standing in the snow! ” 

Vee didn't vait for leef at all — 

The morning light was werry dim. 

But pretty soon we fount poor Hans, 

Or wot was left of him. 

We fount two dett wolfs on the snow, 

A gun, some pones, a uniform; 

Goot Gott! this Rooshian vore is colt, — 
Perhaps, yet, Hans is warm. 


[69] 




A BELGIAN HERO 


tf 


A BELGIAN HERO 


The drums were rolling the reveille. 

But the Belgian dozed in his trench; 

A Turco yelled in his ear, “ Away, 

The Huns are whipping the French.” 

The Turco’s shout was like the last trump, 

And our soldier jumped to his feet — 

“ Lead on,” he cried, and brandished his gun — 
“ A charge boys, never defeat! ” 

The Turco grinned, his white teeth shone. 

The French around him guffahed; — 

Our Belgian hero, clutched in a dream, 

Waved cap in the air, — and hurrahed. 

He flourished his gun, and with the butt end 
Laid the Turco flat on the ground; 

And while he shouted, “ A-bas le Boche! ” 

King Albert happened around. 


[73] 


SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


“ What ails you, my man? ” the brave king said, 
And our wild-eyed hero replied, 

“ In that deep ditch my dear wife’s corpse, 

And her infant dead at her side. — 

“ My God, I cannot begin to tell 
The horrors I saw that night — 

Those brutes caught my wife and our dear child 
And slaughtered them in my sight. 

“ And that was not all; I stood there bound, 

To sharpen their brutal fun; 

And while I raved my captor laughed 
And prodded me with his gun. 

*** Oh, see you not there in that foul ditch, 

That beautiful woman lies? 

That poor, poor clay is my dear wife, 

And Death looks up from her eyes.” 

“ Enough, my good man,” the brave king said, 

“ ’Tis not the end of this war.” 

And the laughter was hushed, and stern and grim 
Were they who had laughed before. 


[74 



A BELGIAN HERO 


Then up from the ground the Turco rose, 
Majestic in six foot three; 

He swore a great oath as dark as himself. 

And his eyes were as green as the sea. 

Two strides — he stood by the grief-struck man, 
Who had nearly broken his head, 

And standing there, like a bronze statue, 

Saluted the king and said: 

“ Together we fight, my comrade he, 

We give-a the Boches hell.” — 

As he walked away with a panther’s step, 

You could see the great muscles swell. 

Hot coffee was passed along the ranks, 

And the soldiers gave a cheer; 

Before they could eat the cannons roared. 

As would make the arch-devil fear. 

Destruction rained from the east and the west, 
Hot sheets of flame shot out, 

And a multitude of German lungs 
Broke forth in a mighty shout. 


[75] 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


An order was given to charge the guns, 

And “ Vive la France ” went the round — 

O Christ! what a glorious sight to see 
Those men on the shot-swept ground! 

Ahead of the line our Belgian ran, 

A frenzy rolled in his eye; 

Around him they fell but his life was charmed, 
He had no reason to die. 

Now at them! his vengeance three-fold fierce, 
He lunged in reckless hate; 

His bayonet dripped with Teuton blood; 

It seemed he could play with fate. 

And always beside him the Turco fought, 
Superb in his six foot three; 

To right, to left, he guarded his friend, — 

Too blind in his rage to see. 

A rout, a rout! the German host 
Scattered like chaff on the plain; — 

But the French fell back, for the multitude 
Of foes that rallied again. 


[76] 



A BELGIAN HERO 


And as they retreated our Belgian fell; 

He would not take the alarm; 

But the Turco gently picked him up, 

And tucked him under his arm. 

He cocked a bright plume above his right ear; 

He swaggered as if on parade; 

The petrified Germans halted pursuit, 
Astonished, not whipped or afraid. 

No halo of mist, as the poets tell, 

Nor angel nor saint appeared, 

But the rattle of arms was stopped a while, 

As the soldiers shouted and cheered. 

’Twas only a small man crazed with wrong, 
Whose vengeance caused the deed; 

’Twas only a dark man reckless of life, 

When a friend of his had need. 

With never a look back he crossed that field, 
And went where the good king stood, 

And laid on the ground, with never a word, 
The mangled man covered with blood. 


[77] 



SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


King Albert knelt to the shattered form, 
And felt his pulse with care, 

And a holy dew welled in his eyes 
When he knew that life was there. 

And when he got up he said a few words 
That a thousand thoughts revealed — 

“ The man is not dead, the war is not done, 
There’s a God of the battle field.” 


[78] 



ENTRENCHED ON THE AISNE 


ENTRENCHED ON THE AISNE 


The Fifth Huzzars were ordered out 
To labour at the trenches, 

Along the Aisne a blinding rain 
Came down in sheets and drenches. 

A young lieutenant took a spade, 

And cast away his sabre, 

“My lads,” he said “dig up a clod,— 
And glory be to labour. 

“But while I dig a word to you, 

Old man beside my elbow, 

When I enrolled I left a girl 

Who thought I was a swell beau: 

“Laugh not, old man, for I can talk; 
In moonlight like another; 

But now, I want to talk to you 
As if you were my brother.” 


[81] 


SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


With this he took a picture out 
And flashed it at the old man; 

“She’s sweeter than the smile you see, 
And worth her weight in gold, man. ” 

“Young man,” he said, “I’m not so old. 
But I might be her father; 

I have a picture I might show, 

If it were not a bother. ” 

And all the while they bantered thus, 
The shells were bursting ’round them, 

And the downpour in the trenches ran, 
Small wonder if it drowned them. 

No doubt the youth was edging up 
To tell a sober story, 

A message for the girl if he 
Should fall in trenches gory. 

The Germans now had got the range, 
Their cannonade was furious; 

“I say, old man, the way those shells 
Go skyting round is curious. ” 


[82] 



ENTRENCHED ON THE AISNE 


And at the word a bursting shell. 

Filled with a hellish mixture, 

Tore from its roots the poor lad’s arm 
That held the sweetheart’s picture. 

Another dreadful fragment struck 
The old man on the forehead — 

And, just to use plain English now, 

The mess was something horrid. 

And there they lay with glassy eyes 
Until the night was starry, 

Sad magnets for the birds of prey 
That hunt their mangled quarry. 

The youth’s torn limb not far from him, 
Still clutched the dear love-token; 

The old man had a duplicate, 

Though stained with blood and broken. 





THE CALL OF THE CROWS 







THE CALL OF THE CROWS 


l. 

A cold mist was silently falling, 

One morning not far from the Marne, 
On a field where a battered old bam 
Was haunted by garrulous crows — 
Insistent — unceasingly calling — 
Persistent as everyone knows; — 

But always more ghostly and weird 
The silence increased with their calling! — 
And ever more ghastly appeared 
The mist as a mystery falling, 

Unholy, unearthly, appalling. 


2 . 

A heavy white fog — from the clouds — 
Was held in that mist — God wist! — 
Or was it the ravelling shrouds 
Of spirits like shadows uprist? 

Of shadowy phantoms around 
Sad bodies on meadow and mound, 

All sodden and rotten, forgotten, 

Where glory swept over the ground? 


[87] 


SONGS OF A RED CROSS NURSE 


3 . 

So many they were that not any 

Could rise through the mist o’er the plain. 
But gathered as fog where the fenny 
Reeds wept in the reek and the rain. — 

So many the multitudes slain, 

The bravest endeavour might never 
A single soul liberty gain. — 

Alas, to be reeking forever; 

In misty confusion to lie on 
Each other, forgotten, forlorn; 

Sad spirits, unbodied, to sigh on 
That heavy-held fog of the morn. 


4 . 

And so the black crow, the foul vulture, 
That hovers or covers that field — 

Ah pity the peasant shall culture 
That field for a bountiful yield !— 

The crow and the vulture sepulture 
Not only the flesh that is rent, 

But even the air they are breathing, 

The misty air winnowed with wings, — 
All seething with spirit-forms pent! — 


[88] 




THE CALL OF THE CROWS 


The air they are breathing is seething 
With many a phantom that clings 
To the carrion crow or the vulture, 

From misty winds winnowed with wings. 


5 . 

Oh hark to the call of the crows! 

O’er the field by the battered old barn, 
The battle-scarred barn where the Marne 
In reedy weeds wandering flows! 

Oh hear you not weeping and wailing, 

An undertone wafted from there 
By the birds that are calling and sailing. 

On sluggard wings over that air — 

An undertone, always persistent, 

In the call of the haunted black crows, 
Heard plainly, distinct and insistent, 

In the call of the garrulous crows? 


[89] 
































































.* I 


A 






* 














SEND HIM A SMILE 






SEND HIM A SMILE — 


O mothers and sisters and sweethearts, 

And all who are ready for tears, 

Because of the lad who has offered his all, 

Let us hide our despair and our fears; — 

Let us knit, let us work for his comfort,— 

Our money, our labour is free, — 

But, better than this, because of our love, 

Send a smile to him over the sea. 

For he will encourage his comrades. 

By singing the songs of the day; 

With the boys over there he will sing the home 
songs 

To chase a sad moment away: 

But when that excitement is over 

He will ask, “Is she thinking of me?” 

Ah yes! but instead of our sighs, — every one. 
Send a smile to him over the sea. 


[93] 



HIS LAST WORDS 




HIS LAST WORDS — 

Voices that I cannot hear. 

Breathed as love might sigh, 

Smiles I cannot see, caressing, 

Charm me — pass me by: 

Not the dear friends I have known, 
Imaged in my brain, 

Not remembered smiles and voices, 
Brought to life again;— 

Not disordered dreams that rise 
From the formless air, 

Nor the angels of my childhood, 

When I knelt in prayer — 

Ah! sweet nurse, ’tis you,—stoop down, 
For the night grows dark — 

I thought it was my mother — 

Did you hear that?— Hark! 


[97] 






WHO SHALL FORGIVE? 









































WHO SHALL FORGIVE? 


Battalions of Germany, — myriads arrayed, — 
With savage hate rushed from the north to in¬ 
vade 

The fertile sweet vallies, the lily-starred vales, 
Where lovely maids rival the loved nightingales. 

And the glint of their swords, and the gleam of 
their guns, 

Was the glory of God to the brutalized Huns; 
But His temples and altars they leveled to dust, 
And the shriek of despair was the life of their lust. 

The shout of their triumph, the boast of their king, 
High heaven assaulted as vultures a-wing; 

But why should they reck on the wrath of the 
Lord? — 

The glut of their glory achieved by the sword! — 

The Spirit of God breathed over the world, 

And far to the west a proud banner unfurled; 

And the Army of Liberty crossed the wide sea, 
That woman might worship and man might be free. 


[101] 


WHO SHALL FORGIVE? 


And the hosts of the Huns are dismayed and 
perplexed, 

Their blasphemous king in his vaunting is vexed; 
For where is the pity for those who had none. 

And who shall forgive what the dastard has 
done? — 

Their bodies are strewn by the Marne on the plain 
Where the hordes of Attila were routed and slain; 
And the fate of the past that dishonoured the Huns 
Is the doom of defeated, degenerate sons. 


[102] 



METAMORPHOSES 































































































































































































































































































































































































CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Preface by Frederic Allison Tupper 1 

BOOK I. 

The Creation.3 

The Four Ages.9 

Giants .13 

Lycaon Changed to a Wolf—.14 

The Deluge— ..19 

The Pythian Games —.29 

Daphne and Phcebus—.32 

16 and Jupiter .40 















PREFACE 


The eastern skies of modern thought are flushed 
with the dawn of a Classic revival. The transient 
dark ages of dollar education, finding neither comfort 
for the present nor hope for the future in such rewards 
as gross materialism affords, turn eagerly to the morn¬ 
ing light of the ageless Classics. Again Homer’s “un¬ 
harvested”, “loud-roaring” sea dashes with its con¬ 
solatory monotone on the shores of time. Again the 
“rosy-fingered” Dawn is becoming something personal, 
living and loving. The recognition of the basic truth 
of the Greek tragedies, as essential to the full compre¬ 
hension of the drama of modern life, is growing apace. 
Thomas Hardy, that supreme master of the truth that 
is “stranger than fiction”, is in spirit a Greek. Not 
from scholars alone come the appeals for the restora¬ 
tion of the classics to their rightful throne usurped by 
the base impostors of superficiality and sham. So 
long as the words of Emerson, 

“ What is excellent 
As God lives , is permanent;” 
shall awaken sympathetic vibrations in the heart of man, 
so long shall “the glory that was Greece and the gran¬ 
deur that was Rome” appeal to every lover of the truth. 


1 


PREFACE 


The dramatic “Homo sum”, of Terence, “I am a 
man and nothing human is foreign to my interest”, 
evoked the enthusiastic applause of the ancients and 
will re-echo forever down the “corridors of time”. 

In view of these glad tidings of a great classic revival, 
it is a peculiar pleasure to announce Mr. Brookes 
More’s poetical translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. 
The poet Ovid, too long misunderstood and underrated, 
has found a valiant champion and a faithful and sym¬ 
pathetic interpreter in Mr. More. Only a true poet 
can do justice to a brother poet of a different age and 
a different language. The heart in every age and in 
every tongue has a language all its own. And, so, the 
brilliant imagination, the unparalleled felicity of ex¬ 
pression, and the matchless fluency of the classic poet, 
find in Mr. More an interpreter so competent, so loyal, 
and so felicitous, that the translation, so inadequately 
but admiringly introduced in this preface, is destined to 
become the standard translation of Ovid for the English- 
speaking world. 

Frederic Allison Tupper. 


2 


THE CREATION 


My soul is wrought to sing of forms transformed 
To bodies new and strange! Immortal Gods 
Inspire my heart, for ye have changed yourselves 
And all things you have changed! Oh lead my song 
In smooth and measured strains, from olden days 
When earth began to this completed time! 

Before the ocean and the earth appeared — 
Before the skies had overspread them all — 

The face of Nature in a vast expanse 
Was naught but Chaos uniformly waste. 

It was a rude and undeveloped mass. 

That nothing made except a ponderous weight; 

And all discordant elements confused, 

Were there congested in a shapeless heap. 

As yet the sun afforded earth no light, 

Nor did the moon renew her crescent horns; 

The earth was not suspended in the air 
Exactly balanced by her heavy weight. 

Not far along the margin of the shores 

Had Amphitrite stretched her lengthened arms,— 


3 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


For all the land was mixed with sea and air. 

The land was soft, the sea unfit to sail, 

The atmosphere opaque, to naught was given 
A proper form, in everything was strife, 

And all was mingled in a seething mass — 

With hot the cold parts strove, and wet with dry 
And soft with hard and weight with empty void. 

But God, or kindly Nature, ended strife — 
He cut the land from skies, the sea from land, 

The heavens ethereal from material air; 

And when were all evolved from that dark mass 
He bound the fractious parts in tranquil peace. 
The fiery element of convex heaven 
Leaped from the mass devoid of dragging weight, 
And chose the summit-arch to which the air 
As next in quality was next in place. 

The earth more dense attracted grosser parts 
And moved by gravity sank underneath; 

And last of all the wide-surrounding waves 
In deeper channels rolled around the globe. 


4 



THE CREATION — 


“He cut the land from skies, the sea from, land, 
The heavens ethereal from material air;” 


Page 4, Book I 









THE CREATION 


And when this God — which one is yet un¬ 
known — 

Had carved asunder that discordant mass, 

Had thus reduced it to its elements, 

That every part should equally combine, 

When time began He rounded out the earth 
And moulded it to form a mighty globe. 

Then poured He forth the deeps and gave command 
That they should billow in the rapid winds, 

That they should compass every shore of earth. — 

He also added fountains, pools and lakes, 

And bound with shelving banks the slanting streams, 
Which partly are absorbed and partly join 
The boundless ocean. Thus received amid 
The wide expanse of uncontrolled waves, 

They beat the shores instead of crooked banks. 

At His command the boundless plains extend, 
The valleys are depressed, the woods are clothed 
In green, the stony mountains rise. And as 
The heavens are intersected on the right 


5 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


By two broad zones, by two that cut the left, 

And by a fifth consumed with ardent heat, 

With such a number did the careful God 
Mark off the compassed weight, and thus the earth 
Received as many climes. — Such heat consumes 
The middle zone that none may dwell therein; 

And two extremes are covered with deep snow; 
And two are placed betwixt the hot and cold. 
Which mixed together give a temperate clime; 

And over all the atmosphere suspends 
With weight proportioned to the fiery sky, 

Exactly as the weight of earth compares 
With weight of water. 


And He ordered mist 

To gather in the air and spread the clouds. 

He fixed the thunders that disturb our souls, 
And brought the lightning on destructive winds 
That also waft the cold. Nor did the great 
Artificer permit these mighty winds 
To blow unbounded in the pathless skies, 


6 


THE CREATION 


But each discordant brother fixed in space. 
Although His power can scarce restrain their rage 
To rend the universe. At His command 
To far Aurora, Eurus took his way, 

To Nabath, Persia, and that mountain range 
First gilded by the dawn; and Zephyr’s flight 
Was towards the evening star and peaceful shores, 
Warm with the setting sun; and Boreas 
Invaded Scythia and the northern snows; 

And Auster wafted to the distant south 
Where clouds and rain encompass his abode. — 
And over these He fixed the liquid sky, 

Devoid of weight and free from earthly dross. 

And scarcely had He separated these 
And fixed their certain bounds, when all the stars, 
Which long were pressed and hidden in the mass, 
Began to gleam out from the plains of heaven, 

And traversed, with the Gods, bright ether fields: 

And lest some part might be bereft of life 

The gleaming waves were filled with twinkling fish; 


7 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


The earth was covered with wild animals; 

The agitated air was filled with birds. — 

But one more perfect and more sanctified, 
A being capable of lofty thought, 

Intelligent to rule, was wanting still — 

Man was created! Did the Unknown God 
Designing then a better world make man 
Of seed divine? or did He mingle earth 
(So lately separated from the skies) 

With flowing streams, and thus infuse the germs 
Of highest heaven from which was given to life 
Iapetus, our sire, whose form was made 
In image of the Gods that govern all? — 

On earth the brute creation bends its gaze, 

But man was given a lofty countenance 
And was commanded to behold the skies; 

And with an upright face may view the stars: — 
And so it was that shapeless clay put on 
The form of man till then unknown to earth. 


8 


THE FOUR AGES 


First was the Golden Age. Then rectitude 
Spontaneous in the heart prevailed, and faith. 
Avengers were not seen, for laws unframed 
Were all unknown and needless. Punishment 
And fear of penalties existed not. 

No harsh decrees were fixed on brazen plates. 

No suppliant multitude the countenance 
Of justice feared, averting, for they dwelt 
Without a judge in peace. Descended not 
The steeps, shorn from its hight, the lofty pine, 
Cleaving the trackless waves of alien shores, 

Nor distant realms were known to wandering men. 
The towns were not entrenched for time of war; 
They had no brazen trumpets, straight, nor horns 
Of curving brass, nor helmets, shields nor swords. 
There was no thought of martial pomp — secure 
A happy multitude enjoyed repose. 

Then of her own accord the earth produced 
A store of every fruit. The harrow touched 
Her not, nor did the plowshare wound 


9 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


Her fields. And man content with given food. 

And none compelling, gathered arbute fruits 
And wild strawberries on the mountain sides, 

And ripe blackberries clinging to the bush, 

And cornels and sweet acorns on the ground, 
Down-fallen from the spreading tree of Jove. 

Eternal Spring! Soft-breathing zephyrs soothed 
And warmly cherished buds and blooms, produced 
Without a seed. The valleys though unplowed 
Gave many fruits; the fields though not renewed 
White-glistened with the heavy bearded wheat: 
Rivers flowed milk and nectar, and the bees 
Distilled their golden stores in verdant oaks. 

When Saturn had been banished into night 
And all the world was ruled by Jove supreme. 

The Silver Age, though not so good as gold 
But still surpassing yellow brass, prevailed. 

Jove first reduced to years the Primal Spring, 
By him divided into periods four. 

Unequal, — summer, autumn, winter, spring. — 


10 


THE FOUR AGES 


Then glowed with tawny heat the parched air, 

Or pendent icicles in winter froze 

What time for shelter man in caverns crouched, 

In bushes hid — or rods entwined with bark. 

Then were the cereals planted in long rows, 

And bullocks groaned beneath the heavy yoke. 

The third Age followed, called The Age of Bronze, 
When cruel people were inclined to arms 
But not to impious crimes. And last of all 
The ruthless and hard Age of Iron prevailed, 

From which malignant vein great evil sprung; 

And modesty and faith and truth took flight. 

And in their stead deceits and snares and frauds 
And violence and wicked love of gain, 

Succeeded. — Then the sailor spread his sails 
To winds unknown, and keels that long had stood 
On lofty mountains pierced uncharted waves. 

Surveyors anxious marked with metes and bounds 
The lands, created free as light and air: 

Nor need the rich ground furnish only crops, 


11 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK 1 


And give due nourishment by right required, — 
They penetrated to the bowels of earth 
And dug up wealth, bad cause of all our ills, — 
Rich ores which long ago the earth had hid 
And deep removed to gloomy Stygian caves: 

And soon destructive iron and harmful gold 
Were brought to light; and War, which uses both, 
Came forth and shook with sanguinary grip 
His clashing arms. Rapacity broke forth — 

The guest was not protected from his host, 

The father-in-law from his own son-in-law; 

Even brothers seldom could abide in peace. 

The husband threatened to destroy his wife, 

And she her husband: horrid step-dames mixed 
The deadly henbane: eager sons inquired 
Their fathers’ ages. Piety was slain: 

And last of all the virgin deity, 

Astrsea, vanished from the blood-stained earth. 


12 




“ Jove, omnipotent, shot thunderbolts' 


Page 13, 


Book I 

















































GIANTS 


And lest ethereal hights should long remain 
Less troubled than the earth, the throne of Heaven 
Was threatened by the Giants; and they piled 
Mountain on mountain to the lofty stars. 

But Jove, omnipotent, shot thunderbolts 
Through Mount Olympus, and he overturned 
From Ossa huge, enormous Pelion. 

And while these dreadful bodies lay o’erwhelmed 
In their tremendous bulk, (so fame reports) 

The Earth was reeking with the copious blood 
Of her gigantic sons; and thus replete 
With moisture she infused the steaming gore 
With life renewed. And lest a monument 
Of that ferocious stock should thus remain, 

She made that offspring in the shape of man; — 
But this new race alike despised the Gods, 

And by the greed of savage slaughter proved 
A sanguinary birth. 


13 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


LYCAON CHANGED TO A WOLF — 

When, from his throne 

Supreme, the Son of Saturn viewed their deeds, 

He deeply groaned: and calling to his mind 
The loathsome feast Lycaon had prepared, 

A recent deed not common to report, 

His soul conceived great anger — worthy Jove — 

And he convened a council. No delay 
Detained the chosen Gods. 

When skies are clear 
A path is well-defined on high, which men, 

Because so white, have named the Milky-Way. 

It makes a passage for the deities 

And leads to mansions of the Thunder-God, 

To Jove’s imperial home. On either side 
Of its wide portals noble Gods are seen, 

Inferior Gods in other parts abide, 

But there the potent and renowned of Heaven 
Have fixed their homes. — It is a glorious place, 

Our most audacious verse might designate 


14 


LYCAON CHANGED TO A WOLF — 


The “Palace of High Heaven.” When the Gods 
Were seated, therefore, in its marble halls 
The King of all above the throng sat high, 

And leaning on his ivory scepter, thrice, 

And once again he shook his awful locks. 

Wherewith he moved the earth, and seas and stars,— 
And thus indignantly began to speak; 

“ The time when serpent-footed giants strove 
To fix their hundred arms on captive Heaven, 

Not more than this event could cause alarm 
For my dominion of the universe. 

Although it was a savage enemy, 

Yet warred we with a single source derived 
Of one. Now must I utterly destroy 
This mortal race wherever Nereus roars 
Around the world. Yea, by the Infernal Streams 
That glide through Stygian groves beneath the world, 
I swear it. Every method has been tried. 

The knife must cut immedicable wounds, 

Lest maladies infect untainted parts. 


15 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


“Beneath my sway are demi-gods and fauns, 
Nymphs, rustic deities, sylvans of the hills, 

Satyrs; — all these, unworthy Heaven’s abodes, 

We should at least permit to dwell on earth 

Which we to them bequeathed. What think ye, Gods, 

Is safety theirs when I, your sovereign lord, 

The Thunder-bolt Controller, am ensnared 
By fierce Lycaon?” Ardent in their wrath. 

The astonished Gods demand revenge o’ertake 
This miscreant; he who dared commit such crimes. 
’Twas even thus when raged that impious band 
To blot the Roman name in sacred blood 
Of Caesar, sudden apprehensive fears 
Of ruin absolute astonished man, 

And all the world convulsed. Nor is the love 
Thy people bear to thee, Augustus, less 
Than these displayed to Jupiter whose voice 
And gesture all the murmuring host restrained: 

And as indignant clamour ceased, suppressed 
By regnant majesty, Jove once again 
Broke the deep silence with imperial words; 


16 


LYCAON CHANGED TO A WOLF — 


“Dismiss your cares; he paid the penalty: 
However all the crime and punishment 
Now learn from this: — An infamous report 
Of this unholy age had reached my ears, 

And wishing it were false, I sloped my course 
From high Olympus, and — although a God — 
Disguised in human form I viewed the world. 

It would delay us to recount the crimes 
Unnumbered, for reports were less than truth. 

“I crossed o’er Msenalus where fearful dens 
Abound, over Lycseus, wintry slopes 
Of pine-tree groves, across Cyllene steep; 

And as the twilight warned of night’s approach, 

I stopped in that Arcadian tyrant’s realms 
And entered his inhospitable home: — 

And when I showed his people that a God 
Had come, the lowly prayed and worshiped me, 

But this Lycaon mocked their pious vows 
And scoffing said; ‘ A fair experiment 
Will prove the truth if this be God or man.’ 


17 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


And he prepared to slay me in the night, — 

To end my slumbers in the sleep of death. 

So made he merry with his impious proof; 

But not content with this he cut the throat 
Of a Molossian hostage sent to him, 

And partly softened his still quivering limbs 
In boiling water, partly roasted them 
On fires that burned beneath. And when this flesh 
Was served to me on tables, I destroyed 
His dwelling and his worthless Household-Gods, 
With thunder-bolts avenging. Terror-struck 
He took to flight, and on the silent plains 
Is howling in his vain attempts to speak; 

He raves and rages and his greedy jaws, 

Desiring their accustomed slaughter, turn 
Against the sheep — still eager for their blood. 

His vesture separates in shaggy hair, 

His arms are changed to legs; and as a wolf 
He has the same grey locks, the same hard face, 
The same bright eyes, the same ferocious look. 


18 



(rra:r>e/ot trtn ef 


Zeznzrt* SO. 


LYCAON 
He has the 


TRANSFORMED TO A WOLF — 

“and as a wolf 

same f/rei / Jocks, the same hard face,” 


Page 18, Book I 















































































































































































































































































































































































THE DELUGE — 


“Thus fell one house, but not one house alone 
Deserved to perish; over all the earth 
Ferocious deeds prevail, — all men conspire 
In evil. Let them therefore feel the weight 
Of dreadful penalties so justly earned 
For such hath my unchanging will ordained.” 

With exclamations some approved the words 
Of Jove and added fuel to his wrath. 

While others gave assent: but all deplored 
And questioned the estate of earth deprived 
Of mortals. Who would offer frankincense 
Upon the altars? Would he suffer earth 
To be despoiled by hungry beasts of prey? 

Such idle questions of the state of man 
The King of Gods forbade, but granted soon 
To people earth with race miraculous. 

Unlike the first. And now his thunder-bolts 
Would Jove wide-scatter, but he feared the flames, 
Unnumbered, sacred ether might ignite 
And burn the axle of the universe: 


19 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


And he remembered in the scroll of fate, 

There is a time appointed when the sea 

And earth and Heavens shall melt, and fire destroy 

The universe of mighty labour wrought. 

Such weapons by the skill of Cyclops forged, 

For different punishment he laid aside — 

For straightway he preferred to overwhelm 
The mortal race beneath deep waves and storms 
From every raining sky. And instantly 
He shut the Northwind in iHolian caves, 

And every other wind that might dispel 

The gathering clouds. He bade the Southwind blow: — 

The Southwind flies abroad with dripping wings, 
Concealing in the gloom his awful face: 

The drenching rain descends from his wet beard 
And hoary locks; dark clouds are on his brows 
And from his wings and garments drip the dews: 

His great hands press the overhanging clouds; 

Loudly the thunders roll; the torrents pour; 

Iris, the messenger of Juno, clad 


20 


THE DELUGE — 


In many-coloured raiment, upward draws 
The steaming moisture to renew the clouds. 

The standing grain is beaten to the ground, 

The rustic’s crops are scattered in the mire, 

And he bewails the long year’s fruitless toil. 

The wrath of Jove was not content with powers 
That emanate from Heaven; he brought to aid 
His azure brother, lord of flowing waves, 

Who called upon the Rivers and the Streams: 

And when they entered his impearled abode, 

Neptune, their ancient ruler, thus began; 

“A long appeal is needless; pour ye forth 
In rage of power; open up your fountains; 

O’erwhelm all obstacles, and every stream 
Pour forth in boundless floods.” Thus he commands, 
And none dissenting all the River-Gods 
Return, and opening up their fountains roll 
Tumultuous to the deep unfruitful sea. 


21 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


And Neptune with his trident smote the Earth, 
Which trembling with unwonted throes heaved up 
The sources of her waters bare; and through 
Her open plains the rapid rivers rushed 
Resistless, onward bearing the waving grain. 

The budding groves, the houses, sheep and men,- 

And holy temples, and their sacred urns. 

The mansions that remained, resisting vast 
And total ruin, deepening waves concealed 
And whelmed their tottering turrets in the flood 
And whirling gulf. And now one vast expanse, 

The land and sea were mingled in the waste 
Of endless waves — a sea without a shore. 

One desperate man seized on the nearest hill; 
Another sitting in his curved boat, 

Plied the long oar where he was wont to plow; 

Another sailed above his grain, above 
His hidden dwelling; and another hooked 
A fish that sported in a leafy elm. 

Perchance an anchor dropped in verdant fields, 


22 


THE DELUGE — 


Or curving keels were pushed through tangled vines; 
And where the gracile goat enjoyed the green, 
Unsightly seals reposed. Beneath the waves 
Were wondering Nereids, viewing cities, groves 
And houses. Dolphins darting mid the trees, 
Meshed in the twisted branches, beat against 
The shaken oak trees. There the sheep, affrayed, 
Swim with the frightened wolf, the surging waves 
Bear tigers and lions: availeth naught 
His lightning-shock the wild boar, nor avails 
The stag’s fleet-footed speed. The wandering bird, 
Seeking umbrageous groves and hidden vales, 

With wearied pinion droops into the sea. 

The waves increasing surge above the hills, 

And rising waters dash on mountain tops. 

Myriads by the waves are swept away, 

And those the waters spare, for lack of food, 
Starvation slowly overcomes at last. 

A fruitful land and fair but now submerged 
Beneath a wilderness of rising waves, 

’Twixt Acte and Aonia, Phocis lies, 


23 


METAMORPHOSES — BOOK I 


Where through the clouds Parnassus’ summits twain 
Point upward to the stars, unmeasured hight, 

Save which the rolling billows covered all: 

There in a small and fragile boat, arrived, • 

Deucalion and the consort of his couch, 

Prepared to worship the Corycian Nymphs, 

The mountain deities, and Themis kind, 

Who in that age revealed in oracles 
The voice of fate. As he no other lived 
So good and just, as she no other feared 
The Gods. 


When Jupiter beheld the globe 
In ruin covered, swept with wasting waves, 
When he beheld one man of myriads left, 
One helpless woman left of myriads lone, 
Both innocent and worshiping the Gods, 

He scattered all the clouds; he blew away 
The great storms by the cold northwind. 


Once more 

The earth appeared to heaven and the skies 
Appeared to earth. The fury of the main 


24 






>fo7mct inv. JVec-sc. 

“The Ocean-ruler laid 
Hie trident down and pacified the waves” 


rage 25, 


Book I 















































THE DELUGE — 


Abated, for the Ocean-ruler laid 

His trident down and pacified the waves, 

And called on azure Triton. — Triton arose 
Above the waving seas, his shoulders mailed 
In purple shells. — He bade the Triton blow, 

Blow in his sounding shell, the wandering streams 
And rivers to recall with signal known: 

A hollow-wreathed trumpet, tapering wide 
And slender-stemmed, the Triton took amain 
And wound the pearly shell at midmost sea. 
Betwixt the rising and the setting suns 
The wildered notes resounded shore to shore. 

And as it touched his lips, wet with the brine 
Beneath his dripping beard, sounded retreat: 

And all the waters of the land and sea 

Obeyed. Their fountains heard and ceased to flow; 

Their waves subsided; hidden hills uprose; 

Emerged the shores of ocean; channels filled 
With flowing streams; the soil appeared; the land 
Increased its surface as the waves decreased: 

And after length of days the trees put forth, 

With ooze on bending boughs, their naked tops. 


25 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


And all the wasted globe was now restored, 
But as he viewed the vast and silent world 
Deucalion wept and thus to Pyrrha spake; 

“O sister! wife! alone of woman left! 

My kindred in descent and origin! 

Dearest companion of my marriage-bed, 

Doubly endeared by deepening dangers borne, — 
Of all the dawn and eve behold of earth, 

But you and I are left — for the deep sea 
Has kept the rest! And what prevents the tide 
From overwhelming us? Remaining clouds 
Affright us. How could you endure your fears 
If you alone were rescued by this fate, 

And who would then console your bitter grief? 

Oh be assured, if you were buried in the waves, 
That I would follow you and be with you! 

Oh would that by my father’s art I might 
Restore the people, and inspire this clay 
To take the form of man. Alas, the Gods 
Decreed and only we are living!” Thus 
Deucalion’s plaint to Pyrrha; — and they wept. 


26 


THE DELUGE — 


And after he had spoken, they resolved 
To ask the aid of sacred oracles, — 

And so they hastened to Cephissian waves 
Which rolled a turbid flood in channels known. 

Thence when their robes and brows were sprinkled o’er. 
They turned their footsteps to the Goddess’ fane: 

Its gables were befouled with reeking moss 
And on its altars every fire was cold. 

But when the twain had reached the temple steps 
They fell upon the earth, inspired with awe, 

And kissed the cold stone with their trembling lips, 
And said; “If righteous prayers appease the Gods, 
And if the wrath of high celestial powers 
May thus be turned, declare, O Themis! whence 
And what the art may raise humanity? 

O gentle Goddess help the dying world!” 

Moved by their supplications, she replied; 

“ Depart from me and veil your brows; ungird 
Your robes, and cast behind you as you go. 

The bones of your great mother.” Long they stood 


27 


METAMORPHOSES — BOOK I 


In dumb amazement: Pyrrha, first of voice, 
Refused the mandate and with trembling lips 
Implored the Goddess to forgive — she feared 
To violate her mother’s bones and vex 
Her sacred spirit. Often pondered they 
The words involved in such obscurity, 

Repeating oft: and thus Deucalion 
To Epimetheus’ daughter uttered speech 
Of soothing import; “Oracles are just 
And urge not evil deeds, or naught avails 
The skill of thought. Our mother is the Earth, 
And I may judge the stones of earth are bones 
That we should cast behind us as we go. ” 

And although Pyrrha by his words was moved 
She hesitated to comply; and both amazed 
Doubted the purpose of the oracle, 

But deemed no harm to come of trial. They, 
Descending from the temple, veiled their heads 
And loosed their robes and threw some stones 
Behind them. It is much beyond belief, 


28 



Grave&'C int> et <*?>/• Xeveatc- <sc 

DEUCALION AND PYRRHA RE-PEOPLE THE EARTH — 

“veiled their heads 


And loosed their robes and threw some stones 
Behind them.” 


Page 28, Book I 

























* 













































































THE PYTHIAN GAMES — 


Were not receding ages witness, hard 
And rigid stones assumed a softer form, 

Enlarging as their brittle nature changed 
To milder substance, till the shape of man 
Appeared, imperfect, faintly outlined first, 

As marble statue chiseled in the rough. 

The soft moist parts were changed to softer flesh. 
The hard and brittle substance into bones, 

The veins retained their ancient name. And now 
The Gods supreme ordained that every stone 
Deucalion threw should take the form of man, 

And those by Pyrrha cast should woman’s form 

Assume: so are we hardy to endure 

And prove by toil and deeds from what we sprung. 


THE PYTHIAN GAMES — 

And after this the Earth spontaneous 
Produced the world of animals, when all 
Remaining moistures of the mirey fens 
Fermented in the sun, and fruitful seeds 
In soils nutritious grew to shapes ordained. 


29 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


So when the seven-streamed Nile from oozy fields 
Returneth duly to her ancient bed, 

The sun’s ethereal rays impregn the slime, 

That haply as the peasants turn the soil 
They find strange animals unknown before: 

Some in the moment of their birth, and some 

Deprived of limbs, imperfect; often part 

Alive and part of slime inanimate 

Behold they in one body. Heat combined 

With moisture so conceives and life results 

From these two things. For though the flames may be 

The foes of water, everything that lives 

Begins in humid vapour, and it seems 

Discordant concord is the means of life. 

When Earth, spread over with diluvian ooze, 

Felt heat ethereal from the glowing sun, 

Unnumbered species to the light she gave, 

And gave to being many an ancient form, 

Or monster new-created. Unwilling she 
Created thus enormous Python. — Thou 


30 


THE PYTHIAN GAMES — 


Unheard-of serpent spread so far athwart 
The side of a vast mountain didst fill with fear 
The race of new-created man. The God 
That bears the bow (a weapon used till then 
Only to hunt the deer and agile goat) 

Destroyed the monster with a myriad darts, 

And almost emptied all his quiver, till 
Envenomed gore oozed forth from livid wounds. 

Lest in a dark oblivion time should hide 
The fame of this achievement, sacred sports 
He instituted, from the Python called 
“The Pythian Games. ,, In these the happy youth 
Who proved victorious in the chariot race, 

Running and boxing, with an honoured crown 
Of oak-leaves was enwreathed. The laurel then 
Was not created, wherefore Phoebus, bright 
And godlike, beauteous with his flowing hair, 

Was wont to wreathe his brows with various leaves. 


31 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


DAPHNE AND PHOEBUS — 

Daphne, the daughter of a River-God 
Was first beloved by Phoebus, the great God 
Of glorious light. ’Twas not a cause of chance 
But out of Cupid’s vengeful spite that she 
Was fated to torment the lord of light. 

For Phoebus, proud of Python’s death, beheld 
That impish God of Love upon a time 
When he was bending his diminished bow, 

And voicing his contempt in anger said; 

“What, wanton boy, are mighty arms to thee, 
Great weapons suited to the needs of war? 

The bow is only for the use of those 

Large deities of heaven whose strength may deal 

Wounds, mortal, to the savage beasts of prey; 

And who courageous overcome their foes. — 

It is a proper weapon to the use 

Of such as slew with arrows Python, huge, 

Whose pestilential carcase vast extent 
Covered. Content thee with the flames thy torch 


32 


DAPHNE AND PHCEBUS — 


Enkindles (fires too subtle for my thought) 

And leave to me the glory that is mine.” 

To him, undaunted, Venus’ son replied; 

“ 0 Phoebus, thou canst conquer all the world 
With thy strong bow and arrows, but with this 
Small arrow I shall pierce thy vaunting breast! 
And by the measure that thy might exceeds 
The broken powers of thy defeated foes, 

So is thy glory less than mine. ” No more 
He said, but with his wings expanded thence 
Flew lightly to Parnassus’ lofty peak. 

There, from his quiver he plucked arrows twain, 
Most curiously wrought of different art, 

One love exciting, one repelling love. 

The dart of love was glittering, gold and sharp, 
The other had a blunted tip of lead; 

And with that dull lead dart he shot the Nymph, 
But with the keen point of the golden dart 
He pierced the bone and marrow of the God. 


33 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


Immediately the one with love was filled, 
The other, scouting at the thought of love. 
Rejoiced in the deep shadow of the woods, 

And as the virgin Phoebe (who denies 
The joys of love and loves the joys of chase) 

A maiden’s fillet bound her flowing hair, — 

And her pure mind denied the love of man. 
Beloved and wooed she wandered silent paths, 
For never could her modesty endure 
The glance of man or listen to his love. 

Her grieving father spoke to her, “ Alas, 
My daughter, I have wished a son-in-law, 

For thou dost owe a grandchild to the joy 
Of my old age.” But Daphne only hung 
Her head to hide her shame. The nuptial torch 
Seemed criminal to her. She even clung. 
Caressing, with her arms around his neck, 

And pled, “ My dearest father let me live 
A virgin always, for remember thou 
Didst give me to Diana at my birth. ” 


34 


DAPHNE AND PHCEBUS — 


But though her father promised her desire, 
Her loveliness prevailed against her will; 

For, Phoebus when he saw her waxed distraught, 
And filled with wonder his sick fancy raised 
Delusive hopes, and his own oracles 
Deceived him. — As the stubble in the field 
Flares up, or as the stacked wheat is consumed 
By flames, enkindled from a spark or torch 
The chance pedestrian may neglect at dawn; 

So was the bosom of the God consumed, 

And so desire flamed in his stricken heart. 

He saw her bright hair waving on her neck; — 
“How beautiful if properly arranged!” 

He saw her eyes like stars of sparkling fire. 

Her lips for kissing sweetest, and her hands 
And fingers and her arms; her shoulders white 
As ivory; — and whatever was not seen 
More beautiful must be. 


35 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


Swift as the wind 

From his pursuing feet the virgin fled. 

And neither stopped nor heeded as he called; 

“O Nymph! O Daphne! I entreat thee stay. 

It is no enemy that follows thee — 

Why, so the lamb leaps from the raging wolf. 

And from the lion runs the timid faun, 

And from the eagle flies the trembling dove, 

All hasten from their natural enemy 
But I alone pursue for my dear love. 

Alas, if thou shouldst fall and mar thy face, 

Or tear upon the bramble thy soft thighs, 

Or should I prove unwilling cause of pain! 

“The wilderness is rough and dangerous. 
And I beseech thee be more careful — I 
Will follow slowly. — Ask of whom thou wilt, 

And thou shalt learn that I am not a churl — 

I am no mountain-dweller of rude caves, 

Nor clown compelled to watch the sheep and goats; 
And neither canst thou know from whom thy feet 
Fly fearful, or thou wouldst not leave me thus. 


36 


DAPHNE AND PH(EBUS 


“The Delphic Land, the Patarsean Realm, 
Claros and Tenedos revere my name, 

And my immortal sire is Jupiter. 

The present, past and future are through me 
In sacred oracles revealed to man, 

And from my harp the harmonies of sound 
Are borrowed by their bards to praise the Gods. 
My bow is certain, but a flaming shaft 
Surpassing mine has pierced my heart — 
Untouched before. The art of medicine 
Is my invention, and the power of herbs, 

But though the world declare my useful works 
There is no herb to medicate my wound, 

And all the arts that save have failed their lord. ” 

But even as he made his plaint, the Nymph 
With timid footsteps fled from his approach, 

And left him to his murmurs and his pain. 

Lovely the virgin seemed as the soft wind 
Exposed her limbs, and as the zephyrs fond 
Fluttered amid her garments, and the breeze 


37 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


Fanned lightly in her flowing hair. She seemed 
Most lovely to his fancy in her flight; 

And mad with love he followed in her steps. 

And silent hastened his increasing speed. 

As when the greyhound sees the frightened hare 
Flit o’er the plain: — With eager nose outstretched, 
Impetuous, he rushes on his prey. 

And gains upon her till he treads her feet, 

And almost fastens in her side his fangs; 

But she, whilst dreading that her end is near, 

Is suddenly delivered from her fright; 

So was it with the God and virgin: one 
With hope pursued, the other fled in fear; 

And he who followed, borne on wings of love, 

Permitted her no rest and gained on her, 

Until his warm breath mingled in her hair. 

Her strength spent, pale and faint, with pleading eyes 
She gazed upon her father’s waves and prayed, 

“Help me my father, if thy flowing streams 


38 



























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3f<T7m-et tfef. Jisyuoy sc. 

DAPHNE TRANSFORMED TO A LAUREL — 

“. , . her hair 

Became as moving leaves: her arms were changed 
To waving branches” 


Page 39, Book I 




DAPHNE AND PHOEBUS — 


Have virtue! Cover me, 0 mother Earth! 

Destroy the beauty that has injured me, 

Or change the body that destroys my life. ” 

Before her prayer was ended, torpor seized 
On all her body, and a thin bark closed 
Around her gentle bosom, and her hair 
Became as moving leaves; her arms were changed 
To waving branches, and her active feet 
As clinging roots were fastened to the ground — 

Her face was hidden with encircling leaves. — 

Phoebus admired and loved the graceful tree, 

(For still, though changed, her slender form remained) 
And with his right hand lingering on the trunk 
He felt her bosom throbbing in the bark. 

He clung to trunk and branch as though to twine 
His form with hers, and fondly kissed the wood 
That shrank from every kiss. 

And thus the God; 

“Although thou canst not be my bride, thou shalt 
Be called my chosen tree, and thy green leaves. 


39 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


O Laurel! shall forever crown my brows, 

Be wreathed around my quiver and my lyre; 
The Roman heroes shall be crowned with thee, 
As long processions climb the Capitol 
And chanting throngs proclaim their victories; 
And as a faithful warden thou shalt guard 
The civic crown of oak-leaves fixed between 
Thy branches, and before Augustan gates. 

And as my youthful head is never shorn, 

So, also, shalt thou ever bear thy leaves 
Unchanging to thy glory.” 

Here the God, 

Phoebus,Apollo, ended his lament, 

And unto him the Laurel bent her boughs, 

So lately fashioned; and it seemed to him 
Her graceful nod gave answer to his love. 

10 AND JUPITER 

There is a grove in Thessaly, enclosed 
On every side with crags, precipitous, — 

On which a forest grows — and this is called 


40 


10 AND JUPITER 


The Vale of Tempe — through this valley flows 
The River Peneiis, white with foaming waves. 
That issue from the foot of Pindus, whence 
With sudden fall up-gather steamy clouds 
That sprinkle mist upon the circling trees, 

And far away with mighty roar resound. 

It is the abode, the solitary home. 

That mighty River loves, where deep in gloom 
Of rocky cavern, he resides and rules 
The flowing waters and the water-nymphs 
Abiding there. All rivers of that land 
Now hasten thither, doubtful to console 
Or flatter Daphne’s parent: poplar-crowned 
Sperchios, swift Enipeus and the wild 
Amphrysos, old Apidanus and iEas, 

With all their kindred streams that wandering maze 

And wearied seek the ocean. Inachus 

Alone is absent, hidden in his cave 

Obscure, deepening his waters with his tears — 

Most wretchedly bewailing, for he deems 

His daughter Id lost; and if she lives 


41 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


Or roams a spirit in the nether shades 
He dare not even guess but dreads the worst. 

For Jove not long before had seen her while 
Returning from her father’s stream, and said; 

“O virgin, worthy of immortal Jove, 

Although some happy mortal’s chosen bride, — 
Behold these shades of overhanging trees. 

And seek their cool recesses while the sun 
Is glowing in the hight of middle skies —” 

And as he spoke he pointed out the groves — 

“ But should the dens of wild beasts frighten thee, 
Thou canst with safety enter the deep woods. 
Conducted by a God — not with a God 
Of small repute, but in the care of him 
Who holds the heavenly scepter in his hand 
And fulminates the trackless thunder-bolts. — 
Forsake me not!” For while he spoke she fled. 
And swiftly left behind the pasture-fields 
Of Lerna, and Lyrcea’s arbours, where 
The trees are planted thickly. But the God 


42 


10 AND JUPITER 


Called forth a heavy shadow which involved 
The wide-extended earth, and stopped her flight 
And ravished in that cloud her chastity. 

Meanwhile, the Goddess Juno gazing down 
On earth’s expanse, with wonder saw the clouds 
As dark as night enfold those middle fields 
While day was bright above. She was convinced 
The clouds were none composed of river-mist 
Nor raised from marshy fens. Suspicious now, 

From oft-detected amours of her spouse, 

She glanced around to find her absent lord; 

And after she had found him far from heaven. 

She thus exclaimed; “This cloud deceives my mind, 
Or Jove has wronged me. ” From the dome of heaven 
She glided down and stood upon the earth, 

And bade the clouds recede. But Jove had known 
The coming of his queen. He had transformed 
The lovely Io, so that she appeared 
A milk-white heifer — formed so beautiful 
And fair that envious Juno gazed on her. 


43 


METAMORPHOSES — BOOK I 


She queried: “Whose? what herd? what pasture fields? ” 
As if she guessed no knowledge of the truth. 

And Jupiter, false-hearted, said the cow 
Was earth-begotten, for he feared his queen 
Might make inquiry of the owner’s name. 

Juno implored the heifer as a gift. — 

What then was left the Father of the Gods? 

’Twould be a cruel thing to sacrifice 
His own beloved to a rival’s wrath. 

Although refusal must imply his guilt 
The shame and love of her almost prevailed; 

But if a present of such little worth 
Were now denied the sharer of his couch, 

The partner of his birth, ’twould prove indeed 
The earth-born heifer other than she seemed — 

And so he gave his mistress up to her. 

Juno regardful of Jove’s cunning art, 

Lest he might change her to her human form. 

Gave the unhappy heifer to the charge 
Of Argus, Aristorides, whose head 


44 


10 AND JUPITER 


Was circled with a hundred glowing eyes; 

Of which but two did slumber in their turn 
Whilst all the others kept on watch and guard. 

Whichever way he stood his gaze was fixed 
On Id — even if he turned away 
His watchful eyes on Id still remained. 

He let her feed by day; but when the sun 
Was under the deep world he shut her up, 

And tied a rope around her tender neck. 

She fed upon green leaves and bitter herbs, 

And slept upon the ground too often bare. 

She could not rest upon a cushioned couch. 

She drank the troubled waters. Hoping aid 
She tried to stretch imploring arms to Argus, 

But all in vain for now no arms remained; 

The sound of bellowing was all she heard, 

And she was frightened with her proper voice. 

Where former days she loved to roam and sport, 
She wandered by the banks of Inachus: 

There imaged in the stream she saw her horns 


45 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


And, startled, turned and fled. And Inachus 
And all her sister Naiads knew her not, 
Although she followed them, they knew her not; 
Although she suffered them to touch her sides 
And praise her. 

When the ancient Inachus 
Gathered sweet herbs and offered them to her, 
She licked his hands, kissing her father’s palms, 
Nor could she more restrain her falling tears. 

If only words as well as tears would flow, 

She might implore his aid and tell her name 
And all her sad misfortune; but, instead, 

She traced in dust the letters of her name 
With cloven hoof; and thus her sad estate 
Was known. 


“Ah wretched me!” her father cried; 
And as he clung around her horns and neck 
Repeated while she groaned, “Ah wretched me! 
Art thou my daughter sought in every clime? 
When lost I could not grieve for thee as now 


46 


10 AND JUPITER 


That thou art found; thy sighs instead of words 
Heave up from thy deep breast, thy lowings give 
Me answer. I prepared the nuptial torch 
And bridal chamber, in my ignorance, 

Since my first hope was for a son-in-law; 

And then I dreamed of children from the match: 
But now the herd may furnish thee a mate, 

And all thy issue of the herd must be. 

Oh that a righteous death would end my grief! — 
It is a dreadful thing to be a God! 

Behold the lethal gate of death is shut 
Against me, and my growing grief must last 
Throughout eternity.” 


While thus he moaned 
Came starry Argus there, and Id bore 
From her lamenting father. Thence he led 
His charge to other pastures; and removed 
From her, upon a lofty mountain sat, 

Whence he could always watch her, undisturbed. 


47 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


The Sovereign God no longer could endure 
To witness Id’s woes. He called his son, 

Whom Maia brightest of the Pleiades 

Brought forth, and bade him slay the star-eyed guard, 

Argus. He seized his sleep-compelling wand 

And fastened waving wings on his swift feet, 

And deftly fixed his brimmed hat on his head: — 

Lo, Mercury, the favoured son of Jove, 

Descending to the earth from heaven’s plains, 

Put off his cap and wings, — though still retained 
His wand with which he drove through pathless wilds 
Some stray she-goats, and as a shepherd fared, 

Piping on oaten reeds melodious tunes. 

Argus, delighted with the charming sound 
Of this new art began; “Whoe’er thou art, 

Sit with me on this stone beneath the trees 
In cooling shade, whilst browse the tended flock 
Abundant herbs; for thou canst see the shade 
Is fit for shepherds. ” Wherefore, Mercury 
Sat down beside the keeper and conversed 
Of various things — passing the laggard hours. — 


48 


10 AND JUPITER 


Then soothly piped he on the joined reeds 
To lull those ever-watchful eyes asleep; 

But Argus strove his languor to o’ercome, 

And though some drowsy eyes might slumber, still 
Were some that vigil kept. Again he spoke, 

(For that the pipes were yet a recent art) 

“I pray thee tell what chance discovered these.” 

To him the God, “A famous Naiad dwelt 
Among the Hamadryads, on the cold 
Arcadian summit Nonacris, whose name 
Was Syrinx. Often she escaped the Gods, 

That wandered in the groves of sylvan shades, 

And often fled from Satyrs that pursued. 

Vowing virginity, in all pursuits 
She strove to emulate Diana’s ways: 

And as that graceful Goddess wears her robe, 

So Syrinx girded hers that one might well 
Believe Diana there. Even though her bow 
Were made of horn, Diana’s wrought of gold, 

Yet might she well deceive. 


49 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


“Now chanced it Pan, 

Whose head was girt with prickly pines, espied 
The Nymph returning from the Lycian Hill, 

And these words uttered he:” — But Mercury 
Refrained from further speech, and Pan’s appeal 
Remains untold. If he had told it all, 

The tale of Syrinx would have followed thus: — 

But she despised the prayers of Pan, and fled 
Through pathless wilds until she had arrived 
The placid Ladon’s sandy stream, whose waves 
Prevented her escape. There she implored 
Her sister Nymphs to change her form: and Pan, 
Believing he had caught her, held instead 
Some marsh-reeds for the body of the Nymph; 

And whilst he sighed the moving winds began 
To utter plaintive music in the reeds, 

So sweet and voice-like that poor Pan exclaimed; 
“Forever this discovery shall remain 
A sweet communion binding thee to me.” — 

And this explains why reeds of different length, 


50 



Z/tV. * 

SYRINX TRANSFORMED TO REEDS — 


“Believing he had caught her, held instead 
Some marsh-reeds for the body of the nymph;” 

Page 50, Book I 


llltliU ( 


































. 








































10 AND JUPITER 


When joined together by cementing wax, 

Derive the name of Syrinx from the maid. 

Such words the bright God Mercury would say; 
But now perceiving Argus’ eyes were dimmed 
In languorous doze, he hushed his voice and touched 
The drooping eyelids with his magic wand, 

Compelling slumber. Then without delay 
He struck the sleeper with his crescent sword. 

Where neck and head unite, and hurled his head, 
Blood-dripping, down the rocks and rugged cliff. 

Low lies Argus: dark is the light of all 
His hundred eyes, his many-orbed lights 
Extinguished in the universal gloom 
That night surrounds; but Saturn’s daughter spread 
Their glister on the feathers of her bird, 

Emblazoning its tail with starry gems. 

Juno made haste, inflamed with towering rage, 
To vent her wrath on Id; and she raised 
In thought and vision of the Grecian girl 


51 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


A dreadful Fury. Stings invisible, 

And pitiless, she planted in her breast, 

And drove her wandering throughout the globe. 

The utmost limit of her laboured way, 

O Nile, thou didst remain. Which, having reached, 
And placed her tired knees on that river’s edge, 

She laid her there, and as she raised her neck 
Looked upward to the stars, and groaned and wept 
And mournfully bellowed: trying thus to plead, 

By all the means she had, that Jupiter 
Might end her miseries. Repentant Jove 
Embraced his consort, and entreated her 
To end the punishment: “Fear not,” he said, 

“For she shall trouble thee no more.” He spake, 
And called on bitter Styx to hear his oath. 

And now imperial Juno, pacified, 

Permitted Id to resume her form. — 

At once the hair fell from her snowy sides; 

The horns absorbed, her dilate orbs decreased; 


52 


10 AND JUPITER 


The opening of her jaws contracted; hands 
Appeared and shoulders; and each transformed hoof 
Became five nails. And every mark or form 
That gave the semblance of a heifer changed. 

Except her fair white skin; and the glad Nymph 
Was raised erect and stood upon her feet. 

But long the very thought of speech, that she 
Might bellow as a heifer, filled her mind 
With terror, till the words so long forgot 
For some sufficient cause were tried once more. 

And since that time, the linen-wearing throng 
Of Egypt have adored her as a God; 

For they believe the seed of Jove prevailed; 

And when her time was due she bore to him 
A son called Epaphus; who also dwells 
In temples with his mother in that land. 

Now Phaeton, whose father was the Sun, 

Was equal to his rival, Epaphus, 

In mind and years; and he was fain to boast 


53 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


Of wonders, nor would yield to Epaphus 
For pride of Phoebus, his reputed sire. 

Unable to endure it, Id’s son 

Thus mocked him; “Thou demented fellow, what 

Wilt thou not credit if thy mother speaks, 

Thou art so puffed up with the fond conceit 
Of thy imagined sire, the Lord of Day. ” 


Shame crimsoned in his cheeks, but Phaeton 
Withholding rage, reported all the taunts 
Of Epaphus to Clymene his mother: 

“ ’Twill grieve thee, mother, I, the bold and free. 

Was silent; and it shames me to report 

This dark reproach remains unchallenged. Thou, 

If I am born of race divine, give proof 

Of that illustrious descent and claim 

My right to Heaven.” Around his mother’s neck 

He drew his arms, and by the head of Merops, 

And by his own, and by the nuptial torch 

Of his beloved sisters, he implored 

For some true token of his origin. 


54 


10 AND JUPITER 


Or moved by Phaeton’s importuned words, 

Or by the grievous charge, who might declare? 

She raised her arms to Heaven, and gazing full 
Upon the broad sun said; “I swear to thee 
By yonder orb, so radiant and bright, 

Which both beholds and hears us while we speak, 
That thou art his begotten son. — Thou art 
The child of that great light which sways the world: 
And if I have not spoken what is true, 

Let not mine eyes behold his countenance, 

And let this fatal moment be the last 
That I shall look upon the light of day! 

Nor will it weary you, my son, to reach 
Your father’s dwelling; for the very place 
Where he appears at dawn is near our land. 

Go, if it please you, and the very truth 

Learn from your father. ” Instantly sprang forth 

Exultant Phaeton. Overjoyed with words 

So welcome, he imagined he could leap 

And touch the skies. And so he passed his land 

Of Ethiopia, and the Indies, hot 


55 


METAMORPHOSES —BOOK I 


Beneath the tawny sun, and there he turned 
His footsteps to his father’s Land of Dawn. 


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